Is That Your Final Answer?
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: A Navy P.O. is murdered the night before she is to appear on a game show. To get to the bottom of it, Gibbs sends Tim in undercover as a contestant.
1. Prologue

Her breathing was growing ragged and she knew she'd have to stop sooner or later…hopefully later. Her lungs were sore and oxygen starved. Every breath she took was dry and shallow. Still, Joyce Kaufman pushed through it, thinking back to boot camp. Certainly she'd been forced to run further than this during her time spent training for the Navy, and that had been beneath a blazing sun, not beneath the cool, night sky. The difference here, though, was that in this situation there was more at stake than there had been back then.

It had only been by chance that she'd even walked by the window in the first place. It was her first night in New York and the next day they would begin filming. She'd chosen to spend the evening seeing as much of the city as she could. She'd ended up in Chinatown for a late bite to eat when she'd passed the hole-in-the-wall restaurant and just happened to glance inside.

Why? Why had she gone out around the city by herself that night? Why had she gone to Chinatown to grab a bite? Why had she walked down that street, walked past that restaurant, and looked into that window? More importantly, why was every local establishment closed for the night, leaving the streets eerily empty?

Joyce skidded as she turned the corner and lost her footing momentarily. Her knee slammed into the ground and she bit back a yelp as the gravel tore into her skin. Her muscles were beginning to liquefy, feeling more like jelly than muscles. She heard the footsteps that had been running behind her start to close in and it lit the fire beneath her. Pushing aside the pain in her chest and the cramp that was beginning to form in her leg, she continued down the street, feebly calling out to anyone who might hear her. How could no one hear her?

It was at the cross-section where Joyce slipped and fell flat on her back, smacking her head on the damp pavement. Her muscles, recognizing that she was no longer exerting them, instantly tightened and her body refused to move. Her attempts to sit up ended with her torso falling back down against the concrete.

The footsteps were still behind her, pounding into the pavement with sickening thuds. As the throbbing set in, she was acutely aware of a shadow looming closer to her. She simply lay there, praying.

When a gun shot rang out moments later, the only witnesses to the sound – other than the shooter – were the pigeons who were pecking about for leftover food. As the bang echoed in the air, they took off into the night sky, not seeing the lifeless body that lay below.

* * *

**AN:** This is already finished. I'll be posting a chapter per day.


	2. Chapter 1

"How does a straight-laced Petty Officer who is in New York to participate on some egg-head game show, end up in a Chinatown alleyway with a bullet in her head?" Tony asked. He clicked a picture of said Petty Officer who lay below. She had been a beautiful girl, now left for maggot food.

"That's what we're here to find out," a gruff Gibbs responded. "Got me a T.O.D., Duck?"

The ME had just pulled the liver probe out of the young victim and, with the body temperature and ambient temperature, he quickly calculated in his mind. "I would estimate that she was killed nearly twelve hours ago."

"That all you can tell?"

"No, Jethro, I can also tell you that this young woman was killed somewhere else and then the body was moved here. I would also guess that cause of death was the bullet to the head, but, of course, I'd rather wait to get her back to the autopsy room before giving you a definite answer."

Gibbs stood, jerking his thumb out of the alley. "Ziva, see if there's blood anywhere nearby. Our P.O. was killed elsewhere."

"Uh, boss?" Tim called tentatively.

Gibbs turned and saw the young agent holding a small bag of a powdery, white substance. "It was in her pocket," Tim explained as Gibbs took it from his grasp.

"Cocaine."

"Think this was a drug deal gone bad, boss?"

"Well, I don't know, McGee." Gibbs handed the small bag back to Tim. "See if you can pick up a print from the plastic bag."

"There was no mention of drug use from her C.O.," Tim mentioned. "Could be someone trying to point us in the wrong direction."

"Think he hasn't already thought of that, McGee?" Tony asked.

Tim frowned at his colleagues patronizing tone. "I was just making a point, Tony."

"And _I_ was just making a point that it doesn't take a genius to recognize that the cocaine conveniently placed in her pocket could be a red herring."

A shrill whistle broke up the bickering and pair looked to see Gibbs giving them both a hard glare. "I have given you each something to do. If that's not enough to keep you from bickering like children, I'm sure I could give you more."

"No, boss," they mumbled in tandem. Tony went back to taking pictures while Tim grabbed the print kit and tried to dust a print off the surface of the bag.

"Interesting," Ducky muttered.

Gibbs knelt beside him. "What have you got?"

"The bullet is still implanted within her skull," he explained, lifting the head and turning it as to allow Gibbs to see. "And the bullet has been smashed, nearly flattened."

Gibbs tilted his head to the side as he examined the bullet that was peeking out between the broken, blood-soaked skin. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine P.O. Kaufman in her final moments. "She was lying down," he said as he too lay down. "The shooter was above her."

"Perhaps she fell," Ducky suggested. He leaned over Gibbs, pressing a forefinger to the man's head. "The bullet entered here, but the gun wasn't directly against the skin." He stood and stalked around to the other side of Gibbs so that his feet stood right against Gibbs' head. "The shooter was standing right here."

"If she'd been pushed, the shooter would have been on the other side of her."

Tony glanced over at the impromptu re-enactment. "She was running from someone. She slipped and fell onto her back. Whoever was chasing her caught up to her and bang!"

"Very eloquent, Anthony."

Ziva reappeared at the entrance to the alley. "Gibbs, there is blood spatter on the concrete at the corner."

"Yeah, I'm coming!" he called as he stood and brushed himself off. "Duck, get our Petty Officer out and back to D.C. Let me know if you find anything suspicious."

"Don't I always, Jethro?" the older man asked with a smile. Gibbs gave him a friendly pat on the back before jogging toward Ziva.

"Ah, such a pity," Ducky said softly to the dead woman. "A beautiful woman with a beautiful mind, gone to waste."

* * *

Claudia Jackson, the executive producer for _Fountain of Knowledge_, was a blunt and slightly acerbic woman with no patience for weakness or failure. Her voice indicated that she'd been a chain smoker for quite some years now and that it may not be long before she had to talk through a hole in her throat. "You can't be in this business and not smoke, Agent Gibbs," she rasped out as she lit up a cigarette while Gibbs and Tim sat before her. "This…P.O. Kaufman's death is just another nail in the coffin of what is becoming a crappy two months."

Both Gibbs and Tim had a feeling that her frustration and sorrow wasn't due to the fact that a woman had just been killed, but rather due to having to find another military officer to compete in the Military Tournament that her show had been hosting for the last couple of months. People from all branches of the military had been brought in to compete in the tournament. It was being used in an attempt to popularize the armed forces as well as gain viewers for the floundering game show. That day was to have been P.O. Kaufaman's first competition. Had she won, she would have advanced on to the finals, competing with all of the others who had won so far.

"Had Kaufman seemed at all unusual, Ms. Jackson?"

Claudia let out a slow exhale of smoke before answering Gibbs' question. "I only met her for the first time yesterday, Agent Gibbs, and that had only been for all of five seconds. The girl could have been ODing on crystal meth and I don't know that I would have noticed." She stopped the cigarette in her over-flowing ashtray and lit up a fresh one. "God, I should never have agreed to this," she muttered before sucking in the taste of nicotine.

"Have there been any problems with contestants lately?" Tim asked. "You said this was the last nail."

"There are always problems, Agent McGee. Contestants try to fight us when they lose, contestants try to fight each other before the competitions, the studio is snapping at my heels over our ratings, and that damn Plessy has suddenly decided that he needs a raise!"

"Plessy, uh, that's Martin Plessy, your host."

"Yeah," she affirmed. Her finger adeptly flicked ash off the cigarette into the ashtray. "For some reason he seems to think we're doing well enough for a pay increase. Sweetie, _I _can't even get a pay increase at the rate we're going."

"Why would P.O. Kaufman have been in Chinatown at all last night? Don't you provide meals for the contestants?"

"Sure we do, but even I wouldn't touch half the stuff we serve them. Most of our contestants prefer to fend for themselves." Claudia shrugged, adding, "Besides, so many of them have never been to New York, they like to see the sights."

"Do you think any of the contestants could have seen her as a threat and killed her?"

"It's possible. Some of our military contestants have shown huge ego and a competitive spirit. I just don't see how anyone would know whether or not she was a threat considering her first episode hadn't been taped yet."

At this point they were getting nowhere. They had no concrete motive, no witnesses, no leads, and no idea where they were going with this investigation. Gibbs only hoped that Ziva and Tony, who were currently interviewing contestants of the show, were having more luck.

* * *

"We got nothing, boss," Tony proclaimed as the group reconvened. "Kaufman has just arrived yesterday and hadn't really spoken to anyone. She left the hotel around 16:00 for some private sight-seeing. She asked the front desk to recommend some good places. He admits he suggested some little restaurant in Chinatown."

"The restaurant in question is about five blocks away from where she was found," Ziva told him. "The only other thing of interest is that Mr., ah, Plessy, the show's host, he said that P.O. Kaufman had seemed jumpy when they were introduced."

"Maybe it was drugs after all, boss."

"Drugs aren't the only reason to be jumpy, DiNozzo."

The group made their way out of the hotel and Gibbs pulled them off to where the truck and car were parked. "We need a set of eyes and ears in there. If Kaufman's murder is at all connected to her participation in this game show, we'll have better luck with someone in there."

"You want me to pose as Kaufman's replacement, boss?" Tony asked, his eyes already gleaming at the notion of going under cover.

"No, Tony, not you." Gibbs looked to the young computer geek. "You."

"Me?" Tim asked just as Tony exclaimed, "McGeek?"

"Who better to compete on a game show than a geek, Tony?" Ziva asked with a bemused smirk.

"Most of them have already seen you, Tony, and they know you're investigating the murder. The only person who's seen Tim was the executive producer. Besides, we'll need someone who can stay in the competition as long as possible."

"Ah, boss, does this mean I'll have to…you know…be on TV?" Tim asked nervously. "Because I, uh, I get nervous and those lights make me sweat…" But his concerns fell on deaf ears.

Gibbs pulled open the door to the truck. "Ziva, I want you to drive everything from the crime scene back to Abby. I'll be following behind in the car and we'll both drive back up together."

"McGee, find the nearest walk-in place you can and get a haircut. Then I want you and Tony wired up." He thrust a set of ear wigs and receivers into Tim's hands. "We'll explain to Ms. Jackson that McGee will be filling in Kaufman's spot. Tony, you will be in the audience when McGee is on. McGee is our eyes backstage and you're our eyes out front."

"What if Jackson doesn't let you choose your own replacement?"

"She will, Tony," Tim assured him with a resigned pout. "She was already desperate to find a replacement so she'll probably kiss Gibbs' feet for suggesting one."

Tony slapped Tim on the back with one hand and patted the young agent's stomach with the other. "Just remember to suck in that gut, Elf Lord. Camera adds about ten pounds."


	3. Chapter 2

Tim stood at his podium, fidgeting beneath the hot lights. He had been situated directly in the middle, with an Army Private to his right and another P.O. to his left. Both of his competitors wore looks of determination and regarded him with a cool confidence. He hadn't a doubt in his mind that they were both in this to win it and would not accept failure.

His palms were sweating, both from the heat of the lights as well as from his frantic nerves. A suspicious looking patch of red had begun to form on his arms and neck. Great, he thought bitterly. My underarms are soaked with sweat _and_ I'm beginning to get a rash. This is going to look great on film, I'm sure.

Tim had never been on television before, not even when _Deep Six_ was released. His publisher had chided him, saying he'd sell twice as many copies if he'd do a couple of television spots. He'd simply told her that he wasn't interested in appearing on TV. If he'd wanted to be interviewed by late night talk show hosts, he would have chosen a different field of art. One of the things he loved most about writing is that it offered a sort of anonymity while still making him feel as though he was something of a celebrity.

"Tracy's got sweat dripping down his face again," one of the crew members called. "Could make-up get out here and plug up his pores?"

He had almost forgotten that he wasn't Timothy McGee right now; he was Petty Officer Robert Tracy, U.S. Navy.

A bored looking woman came by with a small container of powder. She applied a copious amount to his face. The powder puffed up, polluting the air and Tim winced some of it managed to land in his mouth. "Try not to sweat too much, sweetie," the woman asked, acting as though Tim had any control over his sweat glands.

"Nervous?" the Army Private – a woman by the name of Wendy who looked to be only a couple of years younger than Tim - asked. He nodded wordlessly in response. She smiled, but it was not a reassuring smile; it was more of a malicious smirk combined with a small hint of pity. "Hope that doesn't hurt your chances of winning," she whispered, though her tone of voice negated her entire statement.

"Looks like you've got a fan, McGee!"

Tony's gleeful tone rang in Tim's ear and it took everything he had not to scowl. He couldn't very well answer Tony without looking like a complete loon, and he knew Tony was going to take advantage of that.

"You do realize that, if you don't win this thing, you will be a complete dud in the eyes of your geek comrades, don't you? Of course, it might make you gain some ground with us normal people."

Tim had just made a mental note to get back at Tony – somehow and somewhere – when one of the crew members announced that they would be starting in thirty seconds. This created a frenzy as people ran about, trying to make last-minute adjustments to equipment, set pieces, and contestants.

"Three…two…one! Go!"

The theme music began to play, mixed with the voice of the show's announcer. "Today on our continuing Military Tournament we have Aaron Lebowitz, a Naval Petty Officer, originally from Sacramento, California; Roberty Tracy, a Naval Petty Officer, originally from Washington, D.C.; and Wendy Generose, an Army Private, originally from Peoria, Illinois. One of these people will be named the winner and advance to the finals of our Military Tournament."

As the camera panned across them, Tim forced a grin, hoping he looked confident and like he actually wanted to be there. If Tony's snickering was any indication, he had not succeeded.

"And now, our host, Martin Plessy!"

The crowd cheered as a middle-aged man entered the set, waving to them the way a king greets his subjects. Plessy was in his late-forties and bits of gray hair had begun to form at his temples. He didn't seem to have a single wrinkle on his skin, nor did his teeth seem any less white than a debutante's coming out dress. He was dressed in a sharp suit, perfectly tailored to his body. He looked every bit the part of a game show host: cool, confident, but not completely unapproachable. He was as comfortable in his role as Tim was uncomfortable in his.

"Welcome to our wonderful contestants," Plessy greeted, though his attention was to the audience. "We're always happy to play host to the wonderful men and women who defend this country, and we're even happier to give one of them the chance to leave this competition with the $1,000,000 cash prize."

Plessy turned to the trio who stood before him. "Now let's get started!"

The show was set-up with a large structure meant to resemble a fountain. Inside, cards with various trivia questions were shuffled about. At random, one card was selected and brought up to Plessy to read. After it was read, he would drop it into another slot and it would be brought to a backroom where someone would verify that the question on the card actually matched the question that had been asked, as well as verify that the correct answer had been given. The subject of the questions could range anywhere from popular music to astrophysics. Not even Plessy had any idea what question the machine would give him. It was all up to the fountain, lamely named the "Fountain of Knowledge."

A card was selected and he plucked it from the slot, holding it up. "Our first question: Who was the first American Vice-President to take over for an American President?"

Tim's mind came alive, racing through his knowledge of American history. Almost without realizing it, his hand smacked against his buzzer, lighting up his podium.

"Tracy!" Plessy called out.

Tim stared dumbly ahead for a few moments before his mouth began working. "Uh…I, um, that would be John Tyler."

"Correct!"

As Plessy went to retrieve the next question, Tim let out a breath he didn't realizing he had been holding. In his ear, he heard Tony admonishing, "Jeez, McGee! Get it together! At this rate you'll pass out before the first commercial break."

Tim had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting to his colleague.

* * *

The show was nearing its end. When it was aired, it would seem like a half-hour filming period, but, with bathroom breaks, make-up retouches, and a near tantrum from Plessy over needing a glass of water, the episode had taken almost two hours to film. Tim and Wendy were almost neck and neck – with Tim leading by only ten points – but Aaron too far behind to possibly catch up.

"Our final question," Plessy announced as he grabbed the chosen card. "This Frank Capra film was the first to win the top five Academy Award honors."

For a moment no one buzzed in. Tim was dumbfounded, having limited knowledge of the history of Academy Awards. A quick glance to Wendy found the woman with a deeply creased brow, insinuating that she had no idea either.

"_It Happened One Night_!" Tony hissed into his ear.

Tim wanted to hiss back that this was cheating and that he wasn't going to advance by cheating, but, of course, he was unable to communicate this to Tony. Now that he had the information, though, should he use it?

"Look, I know you don't want to cheat," Tony said, as though reading Tim's mind, "but we need you to advance as far as possible. Just give the answer. Besides, do you really care about crushing this girl?"

His podium lit up as his hand hit his buzzer. "That, uh, would be, uh…_It Happened One Night_."

"You are correct!"

The audience burst into applause as Tim was named the winner of the episode. Both of his competitors gamely shook his hand, though he could see the disappointment in both of them. A twinge of guilt surged through him. They had worked hard to get here; he had just been put here to help solve a murder. It wasn't really fair of him to take this away from them.

"You guys did great," he offered feebly to them, receiving no response for his efforts.

"Nice job, kid." Tim turned to see Plessy approaching him, hand out-stretched.

Tim offered his own hand. "Uh, thanks. It's, uh, just nice to know that all those nights spent studying rather than partying aren't being put to waste."

He briefly examined the older man, noticing an AA pin on his shirt that proclaimed him sober for two years. Tim remembered hearing something about Plessy having had a drinking problem a few years prior.

"Heh, that's a good one, kid," he replied with a wan smile. "Just a word of advice, though: try not to stutter so much."

"Ah, nervous habit," he explained as he was led backstage.

In the show's green room he found the contestants for the next episode waiting to be brought on. The show taped three episodes per day, with only an hour break between tapings; sometimes less if an episode took particularly long to tape. Luckily, Tim wasn't slated to tape again until the next day. The next two episodes would finish up the semi-finals, and tapings of the final competitions would begin the next day.

A couple of the contestants backstage congratulated him on the win, though many of them simply ignored him, focusing on the note cards or books they'd brought to cram as much knowledge into their brains as possible.

He slid his way through the crowd and pulled a paper cup from the dispenser on the water cooler. As he filled the cup, another person appeared beside him. He could see right away that the man was an Army Corporal and that he was standing at attention. He had a traditional buzz cut which, combined with the hard ass glare and no-nonsense frown, made him look like the stereotypical Army man one saw in films.

"Hi," Tim said uncertainly.

"Impressive work, Petty Officer," the man said.

"Ah, thank you…uh, sir."

The man peered in to him, studying Tim. He began to realize what it must feel to be an amoeba under a microscope.

"You don't strike me as the military type of man."

"Well, I, uh, like to go against the stereotype." Tim prayed he wouldn't be exposed as a fraud. That would be one more thing for Tony to tease him about.

The man leaned in closer to Tim until his mouth was directly next to Tim's ear. "Just be sure to stay out of my way."

No one else heard it. Not only was the man's voice barely above a whisper, but the room was alive with chatter from contestants trying to recite every world capital they could and make-up staff talking about who on staff was sleeping with whom.

The Corporal straightened up and walked off, leaving behind a bewildered Tim.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to all of you who have been reading and reviewing! I truly appreciate your support and encouragement!


	4. Chapter 3

"Yeah, Duck?" Gibbs asked when he answered the phone. It was 7:00am of the following day and Gibbs was hoping they would cover more ground on the Kaufman murder than they had so far.

The body, along with crime scene evidence, was back at NCIS headquarters in D.C., and Gibbs and his team had spent the night comparing notes, finding that they still had little to go on. Ziva had shown a picture of P.O. Kaufman to the owners of the Chinatown restaurant, but neither had seen her. In fact, no one in the surrounding area recalled seeing the Petty Officer.

Tim had spent his time talking to other contestants about P.O. Kaufman, subtly asking if there had been any heated arguments amongst the contestants. While none of them had made any mention of suspicious behavior when they had been interviewed by Tony and Ziva, when Tim asked, they all pointed a finger at a fellow contestant, claiming that he or she had been acting suspiciously and had quite possibly been cheating. If he was to believe all of the claims, Tim would be left with about ten different persons of interest, and that wasn't including claims from disgruntled contestants who hadn't made it to the finals of the competition.

"I wanted to let you know, Gibbs, that our Petty Officer showed no signs of any drug use. No cocaine was found in her body and I saw nothing to indicate that she'd ever used it."

"Anything else?"

"Well, not at the moment, Jethro. I figured, though, that you may want to know that the cocaine left in her pocket was most likely an attempt to point us in the wrong direction."

"Yeah, thanks, Duck." He flipped the phone off and found Tony and Ziva looking at him expectantly. "No drugs in her body,' he explained.

"Well, that is another dead wall."

"Brick wall, Ziva…or dead end."

"If they both mean the same thing then why can't I just say it the way I please?"

"Where is McGee?" Gibbs asked, hoping to stop the argument before it even started.

"In his hotel room," Ziva said.

It had been decided that Tim would take P.O. Kaufman's vacant hotel room, rather than rooming with the team. They didn't want to arouse suspicion among other contestants or any of the crew members. When he wasn't filming, Tim would slip up to the floor where they were rooming.

Gibbs flipped open his phone and dialed Tim's number.

"McGee."

"You're up?"

"Yeah, boss, I was just about to get my ear wig and receiver situated."

"Your episode is taping at 14:00, right?"

"Yeah, boss. It's, uh, the second episode of the day."

"Come up here as soon as you're dressed."

* * *

When the elevator opened, Tim nearly decided to take the stairs. Standing there, looking as domineering as he had the day before, was Jack Parker, the Army Corporal who had all but threatened Tim in the green room.

Parker had proven himself to be a viable foe during his first competition. Tim had watched as the episode was taped. Parker didn't so much press his buzzer he did pound it and he barked out his answers as though he were answering a drill sergeant, never showing any emotion in his stony face. Even Plessy had seemed slightly put-off by the man's demeanor.

Tim swallowed his initial fear and stepped on to the elevator. He tentatively reached to push the button for his floor, an act that required him to lean in front of Cpl. Parker. Tim decided not to look the man in the eyes. After all, he couldn't intimidate him if he wasn't looking at him.

"You seem particularly nervous today, P.O. Tracy."

He jumped slightly at the sound of Cpl. Parker's voice. "I…uh…I think I ate some bad fish last night. Did something to my stomach."

"I don't suppose you will let this affect your performance in today's episodes."

"I, uh, hope not…uh, Cpl. Parker."

The doors opened to Tim's floor. He gave the man a small smile, to which he received a cold stare, before making a hasty exit toward the room that Gibbs and Tony were sharing for the duration of their stay.

"Did the big, bad Corporal scare you, Little Red Probiehood?" Tony asked the moment he opened the door.

"How did you know?" Tim muttered, slipping past the smiling man into the safety of the hotel room.

"We heard it, McGee," Ziva said, trying hard not to laugh. Tim was grateful to her for at least trying. "If you would like, I could easily take care of him for you."

"Not until we're done, Ziva," Gibbs warned.

"I think we've got a pretty good suspect here."

"Tony, just because he is intimidating, it does not mean that he would murder someone to win."

"I wouldn't put it past him, Ziva" Tim said. "He's obviously adamant about winning."

"He's competitive. It does not make him a murderer."

"Well, Ziva, at this point he's our best lead."

It was true that Cpl. Parker had presented himself as the most competitive player so far. While every contestant had been competitive to a certain degree, none had been so determined to win as Cpl. Parker had.

"I have to agree with Tony on this one," Tim told them.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby's face appeared on the screen of the computer that was set on the small desk. "Gibbs!"

"Yeah, Abbs, I'm here."

"McGee gets an A plus!"

"For what?"

"For pulling a print off the bag of cocaine."

"You got a match?"

"No, not yet. But, it was such a beautiful, pristine print that I just had to give him props for it."

"Give him 'props'?"

"Ah, never mind, Gibbs."

"What have you got on the rest of stuff?"

"Well, all of the blood you guys sent me belonged to P.O. Kaufman…"

"That's it?"

"Gibbs, I didn't have much else to work with!"

"Just let me know when you have something, Abby," he said with a sigh. He turned back to the team.

"Ziva, today you'll be backstage while Tony and I stay out front." He nodded to Tim. "You think your safety is compromised, you call it, McGee."

As the team began gearing up, Tim recalled his moral dilemma the day before. "Ah, boss, I was, uh, wondering about…you know…getting help."

"We've got your back, McGee."

"I, uh, I mean help on the questions," he explained. "Yesterday, Tony helped me out on one of the questions and…well, the people I'm playing against worked hard to get where they were and…well, I don't feel right about cheating."

"McGee, there isn't just money at stake here. We're trying to catch a murderer and we need you to stay in the game as long as possible. If any of us give you the answer to a question, take it and go with it. This isn't the time to worry about morality."

Tim hung his head, still not happy with the idea of being able to cheat his way through the competition. "Yes, boss."

* * *

"The answer is Pete Rose, Probie."

"Pete Rose," Tim echoed after buzzing in.

"That is correct, P.O. Tracy!" Plessy confirmed.

Unlike the previous episode he'd been in, this one was proving to be a tight competition. As before, Tim was leading his competitors, but neither one was far behind. They were part-way through the competition and it was really anyone's game.

A new card shot up and Plessy plucked it up. "Our next question: What novel did T.S. Eliot call 'The first true English Detective novel'?"

Tim's hand couldn't hit the buzzer quickly enough. "_Moonstone_!"

"Correct again!"

A new question was picked. "What teen sensation is sometimes known by the name 'Hannah Montana'?"

The podium to his right lit up. "Miley Cyrus," said the young, petite woman, a Private Marie Scooter.

"That is correct! And that brings us to our next break!"

"Cut! Five minutes!" a crew member called to everyone present.

"Better watch out, McGee! The shorty next to you could be competition."

"He is doing fine, Tony. He is certainly doing better than you would were you in his position."

Tim slipped through the throng of people, hoping to grab a drink of water. He slipped the ear wig out, not wanting to listen to Ziva and Tony bickering, particularly about him, and dropped it into his pocket. He only had a few more questions to answer and he'd be on his way to the final episode tomorrow.

"You seem to have an interesting answering technique."

Tim nearly jumped when he heard to hard voice beside him. He looked up and, sure enough, there was the ever-present Cpl. Jack Parker. His arms were crossed as he leaned back against the wall, staring down Tim.

"Sometimes it looks as though you're listening intently to someone else before you answer a question."

"Ah, that's just the way I think. I listen to, uh, my brain…" Tim responded lamely.

The Corporal leaned in and Tim was aware that the insides of his ears were under scrutiny. He was thankful that he'd removed the ear wig moments before, so all Parker would see were dark hollows leading to the ear canal and, at worst, a little ear wax.

"You're a strange one," Parker finally concluded before walking away.

When Tim was certain that no one, especially Parker, was looking, he discreetly slipped the ear wig back in. "I think Cpl. Parker is aware of the fact that I have an ear wig, boss," he whispered into his receiver.

"Take it out, McGee."

"Boss," Tony cut in, "how can we help him with questions if he doesn't have an ear wig?"

"He has done quite well by himself, Tony," Ziva cut in. "We cannot risk having Parker finding the ear wig, even if he only accuses Tim of cheating."

Which I _did_, Tim thought glumly. "I'll be fine, so long as all of you can hear what's happening."

"Get rid of the ear wig," Gibbs repeated. "We'll be fine."

Tim gingerly pulled it out and replaced it safely inside his pocket. If I'm going to win this, he thought as he took his place behind his podium, I am going to do it by my own abilities.

* * *

"That was just great, doll," one of the make-up croons congratulated as they sat in the make-up room. "I tell you, I'm amazed at the things some of you know. Like knowing who discovered penicillin," she pointed out, referring to the final question of Tim's episode. With Private Scooter tied with him, his answer had won him the game and advanced him to the final competition to be taped tomorrow.

The make-up room was vacant by this point, as all of the episodes had been taped for the day. Tim had struck up a conversation with Vera, one of the women who helped with make-up, hoping she may have some insight as to who would want to kill P.O. Kaufman. She seemed like the kind of woman who kept her ears open at all times, hoping to catch the latest gossip. Unfortunately, during their fifty-minute conversation, she hadn't offered up a single thing that might help in the investigation.

"I just have a good memory," he told her modestly.

"Yeah, well it's better than mine. I have a hard enough time remembering the names of all my ex-husbands. No way I could tell you who discovered this or that," she told him as she began cleaning up the space. Pins, brushes, powder puffs, and other cosmetic accoutrements lay strewn about.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in a tone that caused Tim to jump up and see if she was alright. In the palm of her hand she held a pair of silver hoop earrings. "I forgot to give these back to that Navy girl…Rushton," she said, referring to P.O. Susan Rushton, one of the other finalists. "She took 'em off and asked me to watch 'em and here I forgot to give 'em back!"

"Well, her room is only two doors down from mine. I could drop them off with her," Tim offered.

Vera grinned up at him. "You're a doll, you know that? Sweet, intelligent, and quite a looker." She dropped the jewelry into his hand, leaning up to give him a peck on the cheek. "If you were about thirty years older…" she trailed off, letting her smug grin fill in the blanks for him.

"Ah, thank you. I should get these to, uh, P.O. Rushton. You know how women can be about their jewelry."

As Tim left, he was grateful that he'd left his ear wig out. He could only imagine what jabs Tony would have for him when they next saw each other.

* * *

Behind the door of P.O. Rushton's hotel room, voices spoke in a hushed tone. With that was a mixture of moaning. Tim almost put off returning the earrings to her, but he was afraid he'd forget about them and they'd never get returned to her.

"Yes?" a near breathless Petty Officer asked when she opened the door. The room behind her was dim and she was wearing a man's blue, silk, dress shirt, a smile, and nothing else.

Tim blushed and extended his hand out to her. "Uh, you left these in the make-up room."

'Thanks," she said as she snatched them out of his hand. She gave him a smile and wink. "Good luck tomorrow!" she exclaimed before closing the door in his face and, Tim assumed, returned to whomever waited for her in beneath the sheets.


	5. Chapter 4

Tim was certain that God must have a strange sense of humor. After all, why else would Tim have been pitted against Cpl. Parker in the grand finale of the Military Tournament. Rounding out the trio was P.O. Rushton who, to Tim's relief, had been a pleasant woman throughout the entire competition.

"Good luck, guys!" she'd exclaimed with a sweet smile as the three stood waiting at their respective podiums. Tim replied with a nervous grin; Parker replied with a grunt.

"Welcome!" Plessy announced to the audience. "Today is our last episode of our Military Tournament and one of these lucky people will walk away with a cash prize of $1,000,000. Will it be P.O. Susan Rushton, Cpl. Jack Parker, or P.O. Robert Tracy? All three have done well so far and I believe it could be anyone's game. So let's get started, shall we?"

Plessy took his position beside the "fountain" and the first card popped up. "First question: Of the 13 original colonies, which comes last alphabetically?"

Rushton's podium lit up. "Virginia."

"Correct!" Plessy confirmed, dropping the card down the slot and picking up the next one. "Our next question: The Tony Award, given for excellence in theater, is named for whom?"

Once again, Rushton's podium lit up. She paused for a moment, eyes glancing to the side, before answering, "Antoinette Perry."

"Correct again!"

A new question popped up. "What is the largest organ of the human body?"

This time it was Tim's podium which lit up. "The skin," he replied confidently.

"That is correct!"

And so the competition went on:

"Who gave birth to Henry VIII's only son?"

"Jane Seymour," Tim said.

"In the Bible, what was the name of Abraham's son?"

"Isaac," replied Parker.

"What is the square root of 144?"

"Twelve," Rushton responded.

"In the Brothers Grimm version of _Cinderella_, what are Cinderella's slippers made out of?

"Gold."

"Who…?"

"John Adams."

"What…?"

"The cotton gin."

"When…?"

"1898."

"Where…?"

"Peru."

Only midway through the episode's taping, Rushton was in the lead, with Tim trailing by thirty points and Parker trailing by fifty.

"Our next question: Who is credited with creating the painting style known as pointillism?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw Rushton's podium light up. What he found strange is that it seemed to light up before Plessy was finished reading the question.

"Georges Seraut," she replied.

"You are correct!"

Tim had always had a good eye when it came to magicians. He could remember being at the birthday party of a schoolmate. There was a clown who had done magic tricks, like pulling quarters out of ears, making doves appear, and pulling rabbits out of hats. The other children had been in awe of the clown, not quite sure how he managed to make a bouquet of roses appear in the palm of his hand. Tim, though, had immediately caught on. He had seen the sleight of hand the clown used; he had seen the way he had adeptly slipped the quarter into his other hand or slipped the card into his large sleeves.

It was probably because of this that Tim noticed something hinky happening behind Plessy's podium. The host would grab a card from the "fountain" and read it, but he would then slip the card into his left coat sleeve. Another card would appear from his right coat sleeve and would be dropped down the slot. When the next card appeared, the same thing would happen, like clockwork.

Tim's brow furrowed. As he studied the host, his eyes fell upon the AA pin that was, as always, pinned to the lapel of his dress shirt. His mind raced and one particular image popped up. It was the image of Rushton answering the door for him the night before. She'd been wearing a blue dress shirt…the same shirt Plessy had been wearing that day. It was exactly the same, down to the pin on the lapel.

There was no doubt in his mind that the two of them were conspiring to cheat. If P.O. Kaufman happened to find out about that…well, that would certainly be a motive for murder. But how could he tell the team?

"Um…" he raised his hand feebly. "I'm sorry, but I desperately need to go to the bathroom." Parker's snort at Tim's request did not go unnoticed.

"Five minutes," he was told as the cameras were signaled to cut.

Tim sprinted backstage. He walked as far as he could until he was in an area that was completely empty. There, he stealthily replaced the earwig within his ear. "Gibbs," he hissed into the receiver. "I think Plessy and Rushton are having an affair. I think they're cheating!"

* * *

Gibbs' phone had begun to ring during the taping and he was escorted out to take the call. "Yeah?"

"Gibbs, I got a hit on the pristine fingerprint McGee got."

"Who is it, Abbs?"

"Martin Plessy. He was arrested about three years ago for driving under the influence and for disturbing the peace. He got a slap on the wrist and was forced to attend AA."

"Thanks, Abbs."

Gibbs clicked the phone shut, ready to fill in the team, when he heard Tim. "I think Plessy and Rushton are having an affair. I think they're cheating!"

"Copy that, McGee. I want you to stay put and we'll be back there. Okay?"

Nothing.

"McGee?"

* * *

**AN: **This one is beginning to wind down. Only two more chapters! Thank you again for the reviews and encouragement!


	6. Chapter 5

Tim had never actually stared down the barrel of a gun. Sure, he'd been shot at, even at close range. But never had he turned to find a gun pointed directly at his head.

"Who are you talking to?" Plessy asked.

"Myself."

Plessy smiled humorlessly. "Nice try, Petty Officer Tracy. Get rid of them."

Tim considered his options. Running couldn't work, as he was sure Plessy would shot him before he could move an inch. He wasn't armed, so he certainly couldn't protect himself against the man. After consideration, Tim gingerly unclipped the receiver from his sleeve and removed the ear wig from within his ear.

"Drop them." Tim did so. "Stomp on them." Again, he did so.

"You don't have to do this," Tim said.

Plessy didn't even acknowledge him. "Hands up. Turn around."

With his hands above his head, Tim felt the gun press into his back. Plessy's hand fell on his shoulder, steering him away from the set, toward a nearby door. "Open it," he was instructed.

As he turned the knob, Tim hoped that Gibbs had gotten his message.

* * *

"Shut it down!" Gibbs bellowed to Tony and Ziva. He had entered the studio to see that both Tim and Plessy had left the set. "Show them your badge and tell them we need to stop taping. Tony, you get everyone out. Ziva, you apprehend Ms. Rushston."

"We're shutting down!" Tony called out. "Everyone needs to get out."

"What is going on?" Parker asked gruffly. "We're not done with the competition."

"You are for today," Ziva told him, not even flinching beneath his glare. "And you," she said, gesturing to Rushton, "are under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud and for murder."

P.O. Rushton turned to run, but found Gibbs standing directly behind her. She was surrounded, with no hope of escaping. "I didn't murder her!" she screeched as the handcuffs were clicked on.

"Where is he taking my agent?" Gibbs asked, keeping his tone level.

Rushton looked at him in confusion. "Your agent?"

"Petty Officer Tracy," Ziva told her in a hushed tone. "He is an NCIS agent and if he is killed by your boyfriend we will add that to your list of charges."

"I don't know!" she cried. "Honestly! He said he'd help me win; he didn't say anything about killing anyone!"

Gibbs could see that she was telling the truth, but it only infuriated him more. It meant that Tim had been taken hostage and no one knew where they'd gone. "Get her out of here," he told Ziva. "And tell security to seal off all exits."

* * *

Tim was pushed out of a door into the sunlight. "Where are we going?"

"Not something you need to know, Petty Officer."

Plessy pushed against his back and he surged forward. They were in an alley behind the studio. Not a person in sight. The perfect place to shoot someone. "Don't worry," Plessy assured him, "it's just a little further."

"Gee, that's nice to hear."

"Nice to see that you can have a sense of humor about all of this."

"You do realize that they'll notice that neither of us has returned. They're going to put two and two together."

"Yes, and I'll sadly have to label you a cheater." Plessy's hand fell upon Tim's shoulder. "Stop here. Turn around."

Tim did as he was told. "I'm surprised. I figured you'd simply shoot me in the back."

"I would, but then I wouldn't be able to say it was self-defense."

"Oh." Tim nodded. "I get it. I lured _you_ out here because you wouldn't help me cheat."

"You're very quick."

"I should warn you, it'll be hard to make them believe I was cheating."

Plessy chuckled. "I'm quick too, Petty Officer. I saw the ear wig you wore. I heard you speaking to whomever was feeding you the answers. I'm sure that in light of this people will have no problem believing me."

"Guess again!"

Tim heard Gibbs' voice behind him. He didn't turn around, but knowing that Gibbs was there was comforting.

At the arrival of Gibbs, Plessy's body tensed. Still, he kept his composure and kept the gun aimed directly at Tim's head. He didn't yet know that Tim was a federal agent, nor did he know that the man approaching was Tim's immediate boss. As far as he was concerned, it would simply be Tim's word against his and, with the evidence he had, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that anyone would believe Tim.

"Drop your weapon," Gibbs ordered.

"I'm just protecting myself," Plessy said smoothly, not missing a beat. "Petty Officer Tracy was threatening to shoot me if I didn't help him cheat."

"His name isn't Petty Officer Tracy; his name is Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS. Now I repeat: drop your weapon."

Plessy's jaw tightened and Tim could see that he was thinking very carefully about how the handle this situation. "Do you trust your own aim enough to risk your agent's life?"

"I trust my aim."

"You didn't answer the question," Plessy noted with a smile. "Considering the fact that I am in a much better position, I would suggest that _you_ drop _your_ weapon." Without waiting for an answer from Gibbs, Plessy commanded to Tim, "Turn around."

Tim paused, waiting for Gibbs to indicate whether or not he should obey Plessy's command. When Gibbs said nothing, Tim stood his ground. "This is going to end badly for you, one way or the other," he said to the man pointing a gun at him. "It would be smarter to–"

"Don't tell me what would be the smart thing to do," Plessy snarled. His finger tapped against the trigger and Tim held his breath.

"Drop it, sir!"

The order came an open window beside them. Cpl. Parker was peeking out, gun in hand. He was aimed directly at Plessy's head. "I'm an excellent shot, sir. I suggest you do as I say."

With the addition of Parker, Tim saw Plessy actually begin to sweat. His hand holding the gun began to tremble as his grip on it tightened. Finally, it loosened and the gun dropped to the ground with a clunk. Tim exhaled a shaky breath, feeling his legs shaking slightly beneath him.

He sprang forward and grabbed the gun while Gibbs holstered his weapon and began clicking handcuffs around Plessy's wrists.

"That was some good work, Petty Officer," Cpl. Parker said, gun still aimed at Plessy. His tone was still just as stony as it always had been, but Tim knew that he truly meant it.

"Thank you, Corporal. I'm not actually in the Navy, though. I just work for NCIS.

Gibbs roughly jerked Plessy around so that the man was facing the other direction. In the distance, Tim saw Ziva, Tony, and a couple of security guards approaching.

"That's good work, Tim." Gibbs gave him a nod. "Good work."


	7. Chapter 6

Plessy sat silently during his interrogation, but Rushton was quick to confess. She admitted that the two of them had been dating for almost a year and, when the idea of Rushton entering the Military Tournament came up, they had hatched a plan to rig the competition so that Rushton would win. They created their own sets of questions and spent hours drilling the answers into Rushton's head. No matter which question came up, Plessy would recite the question he and Rushton had memorized. He'd then slip the card with the real question into one sleeve while retrieving a card with the question he'd actually asked from his right sleeve. This way when the card was checked, the question that appeared on it would match up with the question Plessy had actually asked.

Kaufman had been walking through Chinatown and had the misfortune of spotting Plessy and Rushton together. Plessy had seen her as well. He knew that if word got back that he'd been seen with one of the contestants, Rushton would be disqualified from the competition and he would likely lose his job.

Claudia Jackson nearly had a heart attack when all of this was revealed. What frightened her wasn't that her host had conspired with a contestant to cheat, had killed another contestant, and had taken an undercover Federal Agent hostage; it was the idea that they would have to spend time and, more importantly, money, on re-doing a good number of the Military Tournament competitions due to the fact that one contestant had been caught cheating and another had been an investigator who had also cheated. But when talk of lawsuits from contestants who had been beaten by Rushton and Tim came up, she realized that it was far cheaper to just let them all compete again.

* * *

"Boy, can you imagine if McGeek had actually won? He'd be a millionaire!"

"No, I wouldn't, Tony. I cheated, remember?"

"So? What they don't know won't hurt them."

"I'm also not actually in the military."

"Oh…that's true. Too bad, Probie. Millionaire geeks get all the chicks."

"I do not think McGee needs to rely on money to attract women, Tony," Ziva said, giving Tim a reassuring grin.

"Oh, yes," Tony said with a roll of the eyes. "Because Probie is just brimming with offers from attractive co-eds…or _any_ co-eds."

"Is this your way of covering up how worried you were about him, Tony?"

"Worried? Me? Ha! Anthony DiNozzo doesn't worry about anything."

Ziva leaned in to Tim. "He was chewing out all the security guards over Plessy's getting you out of the building," she whispered to him.

Even though Tony glared at Ziva for spilling that bit of information to Tim, the look of concern Tim had seen in the older agent after Tim's being held at gunpoint had been undeniable. It was nice to be worried about, even for five minutes.

"Though, there was that nice girl who was coming on to you," Tony commented, returning to their previous discussion of Tim's ability to attract women.

"What girl?" Tim asked, racking his brain for any girl who may have shown interest in him.

"That lovely make-up woman. Vera, I think her name was?"

Tim scowled, but before he could muster up a reply, Gibbs' hand slapped against the back of Tony's head. "Can it, DiNozzo."

"Can it what?" Ziva asked Tim in a hushed tone.

"It means 'shut up,'" Tim explained as he slid into the backseat.

"Ah! Well I cannot argue with _that_," she said with smug grin in Tony's direction.

"Too bad your episodes will never actually be aired, McGee," Tony said, ignoring Ziva's comment.

At that, Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He had dreaded the idea of having to see himself on television; or, worse, having his friends and family see him. Once the show was in syndication, he'd always dread flipping through the channels and accidentally landing on a channel that just happened to be rerunning one of his episodes. He hoped the footage would be locked away, never to see the light of day.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you, McGee?" Gibbs asked from the driver's seat.

"Tell me what, boss?"

"Ms. Jackson said that she sold the footage to some upcoming director who's doing a documentary about people cheating on game shows. It's already set to be released in over a thousand theaters."

Tim groaned, leaning his head back against the head rest, slightly aware of Tony grumbling beside him about how unfair it was that Tim got to be in a big screen documentary. "Yes, Tony…yes it is…"

* * *

**AN:** Thus we come to an end! Thanks for everyone who read this and thank you especially to those of you who reviewed :)


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